“A new baby is an amazing miracle, radiating promise, evoking some of the most intense feelings of love. And at the same time…completely exhausting.”
We welcome new babies into our communities with rituals and ceremonies. We dedicate ourselves, as parents, family, and church members, to helping to raise this child to feel valued, loved, and able to fulfill their potential. Rather than seeing them as tainted by original sin, we see them as whole and beautiful, just as they are.
They are human, though, and just at the beginning of their becoming. They are, as the behaviorists say, “developmentally appropriate.” Which means incredibly needy, unable to adequately communicate, and completely dependent on their parents. Especially at 3 am.
How could my feelings be so…all over the place? I’d look at my little baby and feel overwhelmed with love for him, and awe in him. He was so beautiful. Such a miracle.
And then he’d cry.
And I’d want to run down the street, alone, and never return.
I was so exhausted. I longed for my old life when I got plenty of sleep, I went out with friends, and I had interesting projects I was working on. Both my partner and I were bleary-eyed; we had short tempers, and we snapped at each other over the silliest things.
A friend said that when parenting babies and toddlers, the years are short and the days long. I didn’t understand that, then. I mean, I completely agreed about the days. But anything being short? Only the tiny bits of time in which I was allowed to sleep.
“I’m so tired of having someone yell at me all day!” I told another friend. She had older children and she told me, “It gets better.”
I didn’t believe her. The years stretched out in front of me. I knew for sure that I would never be allowed to have more than 2 hours of sleep at once, not until this baby was 18, anyway. I fantasized of out-of-state colleges for my child, when at last, old and stooped-over, I would be allowed to sleep. And I felt guilty, and like the worst parent in the world for having these thoughts.
And then, one night, he slept through the night.
When we woke up and realized the time, of course, we panicked and went charging into his room, waking him. But it had happened! We had gotten a full night’s sleep!
That would come and go, of course, over the next couple of months. But my children are all older now, and we get regular sleep again. And I don’t have a baby crying or yelling at me all the time. There are new challenges, but nothing like those baby years.
It really does get better.
Spirit of Love, may I be enfolded in the embrace of the universe. May I receive the comfort of knowing that I am one link across the generations, that millions of parents before me felt what I am feeling. May I draw strength and patience from our shared experience. Amen.
You might want to try a “rocking chair meditation.” I’d find the right rhythm that would soothe my baby, and would croon certain phrases over and over. The rocking was for him, and the words were for me. One example: “Rocking, rocking/Growing, growing/You and I/Bloo-ming.” Another good one, “Peaceful, restful, gentle, tranquil, soothing, calm and coolness.” (But let’s be honest…just chanting “sleep, sleep, sleep, please, sleep, sleep, sleep, now” is fine, too.)
May you find pockets of rest and joy to restore you to feeling like yourself.
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Quest for Meaning is a program of the Church of the Larger Fellowship (CLF).
As a Unitarian Universalist congregation with no geographical boundary, the CLF creates global spiritual community, rooted in profound love, which cultivates wonder, imagination, and the courage to act.